When he did sleep it would be a sensuous pleasure, as rewarding as food or drink or a woman. But he couldn’t sleep yet. There were still a few loose ends. Creasy had called at four-thirty: he had the money. So that was set. And Adam Wilson’s body had been taken care of; Duke had driven deep into the woods and left it there sprawled behind the wheel of the car, alone and staring in the empty stillness of the forest. Duke had come back to the lodge on foot, leaving no more sign of his passage than a canoe would leave on water. He had enjoyed the silent, stealthy return; it reminded him of his boyhood in Wisconsin, the old Indians, the hunting and fishing and the powerful excitement that had always gripped him when he was alone in the secret darkness of the woods. When you knew how to handle yourself you could come within ten feet of a camping party and listen and watch for hours without being seen or heard...
He glanced at his watch: six-thirty. The girl would be ready with the baby. The last loose ends. He had told her he was taking her home, but she hadn’t believed that: she had stared at him, knowing he lied, watching him with eyes that were like a trapped animal’s.
Duke stretched his arms above his head, then put his hands on the small of his back and twisted sideways and forwards, limbering up his big body. A cramping pain tightened his chest. He still felt stiff as he limped upstairs. Stale, he thought. He needed exercise.
Grant hadn’t been sleeping. He opened the door at Duke’s knock, wearing slacks and a sports shirt. A cigarette burned at the comer of his mouth and the perspiration of his forehead glistened in the light of the flaring ash.
“You set to go?” he said.
“All set.” In the big double bed behind Grant, Belle’s body was a soft mound under the blankets. She was breathing softly, evenly. “Nothing wrong with her conscience,” Duke said.
“She’s good for hours. It’s that booze. Don’t worry, I’ll get her up when you’ve gone.”
“That’s right. We’re moving when I get back.”
“With your brother?”
“We’re taking him, sure,” Duke said. “We’ll stop in town, let folks see him. That will keep anybody from coming out here and nosing around.”
“Okay. You’d better get going.”
“I found a nice spot for it,” Duke said. “A hundred-foot drop, straight into water.”
“There’s no point talking about it.”
Duke smiled faintly. “I get the nice jobs, don’t I?”
“Why talk about it?”
“The water is deep there,” Duke said. He knew Grant was ready to fly apart; his eyes were bright with tension. “They won’t find the car for days.”
Grant wet his lips. “The engine number is a phony, the plates are registered to a John Doe in Seattle. Washington They can’t ever trace it.”
“Sure, there’s nothing to worry about,” Duke said, smiling at the sickly sheen on Grant’s face. “But maybe you’d like to handle this last job yourself. Just to make sure. Just to make sure you’ll get back to Donovan’s.”
“No — no, you go ahead.”
“You’re sure you trust me?”
Grant’s smile tightened the lines of fear in his face. “Don’t clown around,” he said. “You go ahead.”
“Okay, be ready to go when I get back. We’ll use Hank’s car. Understand?”
Grant nodded quickly, then closed the door and leaned against it, his breath coming in deep laboring gasps. He heard Duke moving toward the girl’s room, then the rap of his knuckles and the protesting creak of a door hinge.
She must have been waiting for him, he thought. Standing there with the kid in her arms. They were coming down the hall now, the tap of her high heels sounding a light accompaniment to Duke’s dragging footsteps. As they started down the stairs Duke said something to her, his voice good-humored and cheerful. Grant knew from the cautious sound of her steps that she was carrying the baby...
When Grant heard the door close behind them he shook Belle’s shoulder. “Come on, time to be going,” he said. “Come on, let’s go.” He was surprised at the casual note he was able to put into his voice. It would be all over in twenty or thirty minutes, he thought, as he heard the car turning over protestingly in the cold morning silence.
“Come on,” he said again.
“All right, Eddie. You want some breakfast?”
“Just coffee. We’ll eat on the road. Come on.”
“I’m awake, honest.” Her voice was thick with sleep. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“All right, don’t go back to sleep, hear?”
When the door closed Belle sat up quickly and swung her legs over the side of the bed. For an instant she felt as if she might be sick; her flesh was cold, and a nauseating knot of fear had gathered her stomach. “God!” she whispered, staring at the closed door. “Why did I hear it? Why did I have to know?”
But she did know. She hadn’t been sleeping; she had heard the conversation between Duke and Grant and she knew the baby was going to die. After all Eddie had promised... They mustn’t do it, they couldn’t, she thought, as she pulled on a robe and stepped into her slippers. But from the driveway she heard the powerful, accelerating roar of the car as it swung toward the road. Turning to the right...
And from downstairs Grant shouted, “Damn it, are you up, Belle?”
“Yes, I’m coming.” The roar of the motor was fading away, but the echoes seemed to be growing louder in her mind. And Grant’s voice was a deafening, menacing sound in the silent house; the combination beat with a confusing clamor against her ears. Belle stepped into the hallway, drawing the belt of her robe tightly around her body. To her right she saw the open door of the room the nurse and baby had been using. She saw a baby’s empty bottle on the bureau, a small square can of powder on the night table. Tears started in her eyes.
“Belle!”
“I’m coming, Eddie. Stop yelling.”
She went quickly down the stairs, holding one hand tightly against her body. “Look what you made me do with your yelling,” she said. “I burned myself trying to light a cigarette. Oh, damn it,” she moaned, turning away from him and pressing the hand deeply into her side. She had gone this far, done this much without thinking or planning; her actions had been automatic, a reflexive response to the sight of the baby bottle and powder can in the nurse’s room. They couldn’t kill a little baby...
“Well, let’s see it,” Grant said. “Hell, a match bum couldn’t be that bad.”
“Let’s see, let’s see! A lot of good looking will do. It’s not bad! No, you can’t feel a thing, naturally. It’s my hand.”
“Don’t blow a fuse. We got things to do.”
“Yeah, I’m supposed to cook and pack and everything else now.”
“Is there anything around here good for a burn? How about baking soda?”
“Baking soda is for hangovers. I saw a tube of Unguentine in the bathroom. Get it for me, honey. Oh, damn! What are you always yelling for?”
“All right, all right,” Grant said. “Let’s get it fixed up, and then let’s get to work.”
“Sure, sure.” Belle waited until his footsteps sounded above her, and then she turned and ran into the kitchen, her breath coming in whimpering little gasps. The door leading to the basement was stuck, and she began to weep, pulling at it, trying to control her mounting terror. Finally she saw the key. Locked, she thought, and her relief was giddy, hysterical. Only locked... Turning the key, she opened the door and clattered down the steps, swaying precipitously and crazily on her high-heeled mules. From a tiny window at ground level a shaft of light fell onto the cement floor and spread ineffectually toward the dark comers of the basement. There was only one door in sight, solid and old, secured with an iron bar, a hasp and padlock. They key was in the lock...